What comes after
by minky-way
Summary: Most people could remember their first kiss with their partner, but Sly had been so damn high he could barely remember his own name
First kisses were supposedly a big thing, an important, knees shaking and hands sweating kind of thing, but he'd never seen the appeal of them. Maybe he'd just kissed too many people now, or maybe they were only special when there was emotional investment, if either of those were the actual reasons he guessed it made sense he'd never been that bothered about them.

Sure he liked kissing, it was okay, he preferred what followed afterwards but just kissing was okay if he had to do that, or if somebody insisted upon it during sex, because really sometimes he'd rather not kiss them at all.

But with Mizuki the first kiss had been forgotten by now, probably by both of them, Sly could vaguely remember it, in terms of alcohol consumed and pills swallowed and a vague sense he'd been rather too soft about things. But details? Not a single one remained, he couldn't remember the pressure of his lips or what he tasted like or how it had felt to be kissing him specifically for the first time.

The same could be said of the first time they fucked, no details really stuck other than the fact that he took too long and was a little too gentle, other than that he didn't recall, he was certain it had been gone, was sure he had hickeys for a while after, but it all blended into one quickly.

Nor was he able to understand the appeal of the first time somebody said 'I love you', sure he guessed when the feeling was reciprocated it must be nice, when people were actually dating or whatever, or just hearing it from a friend. But he didn't have friends and his grandma wasn't the type to show affection so obviously, sure she probably loved him but he couldn't remember her saying it, and besides that wasn't the right type of love.

But the first time Mizuki had said it all he felt was pure terror because he wasn't meant to love him, to get invested that far, he'd fucked things up now and he didn't know how to feel about it, he sure as hell hadn't felt the same. He'd run away, after he fucked him of course, because it felt a little wrong and very stupid to stay around him when he knew the truth now, of how he felt, might have been feeling for a really long time. He'd gone back and nothing had really changed other than that he never said it again, he wasn't that stupid and Sly figured he must be a bit of a masochist to stick around somebody who didn't love him back, who wasn't quite capable of that.

So they had no particularly amazing firsts, not normal ones anyway, sure there were things that meant more to him than they might for normal people by now, the first time Mizuki held his hand in public, which had been interesting, the first time he bought him a present.

Even now he didn't understand firsts as being more amazing than everything that followed after, but then he figured that was probably because he and Mizuki hadn't started this whole thing with any investment in each other, they'd been drunk, Sly had been horny, they'd fucked and that should have been it.

But now there were so many different types of things to experience, new kinds of kissing, new kinds of sex, 'I love you' spoken in a rainbow of tones and sometimes so unexpectedly it may as well have been the first time. He tried to pick a favourite sometimes, when he was feeling soppy, which wasn't often, whether he liked the lazy morning kisses better than the affectionate 'I'm late for work' pecks, or the innocent press of lips somewhere other than his mouth, on his shoulder, stomach, the top of his head, cheek, eyes, chin, nose.

Or did he like the ones in front of people, the ones that spoke of ownership, or the reassuring ones when he hated himself and everything else, when he wanted the world to burn, or the slow, deep ones with just enough tongue.

He had no idea, he liked all of them most of the time, rarely now did he push him away or get moody. He liked the kisses he initiated too, because he realised he could do that now, liked how no matter how occupied Mizuki was he'd respond the best he could and look regretful they couldn't carry on, liked his surprise when he kissed him for no reason at all other than that because he could now.

Sex too, Sly had always thought it came in two types, fucking and love making, which made him cringe every time he thought it or Mizuki said it deliberately because he knew he hated it. But he was wrong, sure they still fucked sometimes, when they'd been arguing all day or when Sly needed something to distract him from his anger, when he wanted to yell and throw things he buried the feelings into Mizuki's skin instead. Then there was the slower sex, romantic and cheesy and always making him feel so funny in his tummy, a sort of slow burn rather than the fast peak of the rough sessions.

Then there was sensual sex, which wasn't as hard as fucking but had more desperation, it was all kisses on necks and holding on too tight and hands everywhere at once, mapping out skin, every moan seemed louder, every groan and whimper, every drop of sweat that travelled between them seeming to burn. There was lazy sex too, like lazy kissing, usually in the mornings, done with the least effort possible and often not even turning into sex but dying out after hand jobs or just fizzling out altogether as they both admitted to being too comfortable.

Sly had said I love you as well, a handful of times, maybe seven at most, it was still a little too exposing to do it often, though he replied in agreement almost every time Mizuki said it, the only time he didn't was when he just couldn't, when the day was bad and no amount of kisses would help.

He'd said it absently, a last minute thought as he shut the door, over the phone when plans changed, sleepily before bed, breathless during sex, whispered into his ear, called out across the apartment, written on paper and marked with a kiss, shouted once or twice with anger dripping from it.

He liked it when it was reassuring, when they'd gone out somewhere and somebody had started trouble, said things neither of them liked and refused to give him a chance, when they'd called Mizuki disgusting and a freak. When he shook his hand off and stalked home first, sat stewing with rage at the dining table, listened to Mizuki arrive and absently make them drinks or food, kept the conversation light. He'd wait to say it until it was later and the anger had faded to give way to his crippling doubt, when he'd curl up in bed and not want to see the bartender, when he'd want to leave and never go back because why would Mizuki love him, why would anybody? When their words had stabbed too deep and he hated Mizuki for loving him all over again, would try to keep it hidden how much that hurt, to suddenly think he was going to be thrown out over a strangers words, when he didn't trust Mizuki or himself.

He'd climb in next to him and turn the light off and find him in the darkness, wrap arms around him tight and whisper it into his hair again and again, 'I love you, I don't care what they think, I love you.' Sometimes it would make him cry, on the days he still couldn't quite believe it, sometimes he would get angry and shove him off, most days he'd just lie there quietly and feel Mizuki stroking his back and knowing it was true and he'd completely believe it one day.

He liked it when he was being a complete asshole, muttering obscenities at the washing machine or doing something else to be obnoxious, something nobody else would love him for, when he'd glance up to see Mizuki watching him with a smile and just know he was going to say it.

So yeah, he didn't see the point in firsts, because they were so fragile, a first kiss could so easily be a last kiss and had always been in the past, but with Mizuki now there was always another coming soon. Just because he'd said he loved him a million times before didn't mean it meant any less when he said it now, it was that constant reminder, reassurance that he felt the same, that things were fine and good and he was safe now, that somebody thought he was special.

Every time they had sex it was a reminder Mizuki still wanted him, still wanted that intimacy between them, that hidden aspect of their relationship that was just for them, the thing they'd started off with and the thing that had remained constant. Now they could cuddle after, or start differently, with massages and brains unscrambled by drink and drugs, could not have sex at all and just do other things together that they never would before.

Firsts faded into insignificance when Sly knew things had changed, he wouldn't want to kiss Mizuki the way he first had, or fuck him like that, he wouldn't want to react the way he had to his confession of love. He liked things now.

It wasn't the firsts he liked, but all the things that came after.


End file.
